


Flowers

by Emilx311



Series: Founders Drabbles [8]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Family, Flowers, Gen, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 22:51:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20016091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilx311/pseuds/Emilx311
Summary: Hashirama's relationship with flowers varies over the years, though he never stops growing them.





	Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Last day of Founders week 2019: Flowers. Dedicated to all the awesome anons I've been getting over on tumblr this weekend, you are all so sweet and I wish you nothing but good things <3

Hashirama had always loved flowers. As a young child he’d gathered fresh ones for his mother as often as he could. Flowers meant spring, meant growing, meant fresh food and happy clanmates. Once his brothers had been born, he’d taken them with him, shown them how to find the best buds and how to carefully pick them and weave them in to bouquets and crowns. When his mokuton had developed he’d started to grow his own, had been so excited to have constant access to his favourite blooms. But then, he’d learned what else flowers were used for.

It had been his mother first. His kind and intelligent mother who loved flowers as much as he did and who had always been happy to display his bouquets in her rooms. Complications with Itama’s birth the adults said. All Hashirama knew was that his mother was gone and so were his smiles at his flowers. He still gave them to her, still left her favourites on her grave, but he would never see that smile again.

Then it was his little brothers, his Kawarama and Itama. He also grew their favourites, leaving flower crowns the way he’d taught them to weave on the ground they lay under. But it wasn’t the same. There were no small voices and even smaller hands trying to copy him. There was no grumbling by Kawarama that flowers were stupid girl things, even as he loved the brightest ones. No Itama repeating everything Tobirama had taught him about what the plants could do, how they could help people while also looking pretty.

He never really stopped growing flowers, but he grew them less often. Focused on honing his attacks, on things that could be used to protect his last brother. For many years his flowers remained only with the dead, until the living had all but forgotten how much he used to love them. Then, Mito entered his life. Beautiful Mito, who was as strong and practical as she was lovely. He had not even meant to at first, but each time they met flowers sprung up around them, small at first but soon growing bigger. And he would have stopped once he realized, but Mito always smiled at them. She talked about how different they were from the ones where she came from, how lovely. He couldn’t help but grow her more after that.

Mito reminded him of all the good things he used to see in flowers. How they could make the living smile. How beautiful they were. He gifted her bouquets as he used to do for his mother, wove flower crowns to sit in red hair (and sometimes in white, much to the secret relief of a little brother who had never once given voice to his worries about his elder). He taught her to pick and weave them as he had once taught his brothers. He showered her in flowers and she glowed with happiness at it.

The Senju compound soon got used to the sight of lowers once again, and once it was formed, so did the village. He covered what he had built in flowers at celebrations. He made sure the fields where the children played always had blooms to weave, and when he had the time, he taught the new generation how to do it (boys and girls, no matter what they might say about it). When Mito gave him children, he grew flowers for their nursery and, once they were older, taught them as he had taught his brothers. He did not stop leaving flowers for the dead, but he was able to focus more on creating them for the living. And he remembered the smiles his flowers had created, from those gone and those still here. Because, he thought, that was where the true beauty of flowers lay-in the smiles they could create. 

**Author's Note:**

> My [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/emilx311)


End file.
